He longed to be a poet with no theme but her, her beauty, her charm, and his love. But this wish was so absurd, that he found himself laughing at it, along with his other fancies, but with a certain joy and wonder that they had come to him; and with the wish that they might be something more than fancies. And so day after day, as he sat in his office, where he gave most excellent advice in a vast variety of cases, these thoughts filled his mind; they followed him out into the street when the cracked town bell summoned him to the dingy court-room, whither he walked with much deliberation and dignity; for he was aware that his youth, though beginning to be largely a matter of appearance only, was still not exactly in his favour.
He sometimes wondered what his clients—serious minded people for the most part, who were suing for judgments on bad debts, or involved in squabbles over line fences, or had foolishly acquired or rashly bestowed black eyes and broken noses—would have thought, if they could have known that under the mask of his professional interest in their affairs, he cherished such an array of dreams.
So he lived this double existence; Benson the lawyer, and Benson the lover, who dwelt removed and remote in a secret ecstasy all his own, and of which no man knew or guessed. It was the season of a generous enthusiasm, when he strove manfully toward a greater measure of worth, for his were the ideals that no man attains to but only desires; and only desires when he is young and generous; and this season, saw the passing of another season beyond the windows of his quiet house. The leaves on the maples, crimsoned at the touch of frost, faded and fell, clogging the open gutters with their faded heaps; the snow lay two feet on the level, and then came the period of frost and thaw; of melting snow and ice; and the imperceptible change from stagnation to life; and it was spring, and the maples were in bud again.
All this while he managed to be of use to Virginia in many ways. He watched over her interests with rare good judgment, for he was determined that no advantage should be taken of her. He found a tenant for the farm—Trent, whom Stephen had left in possession, having proved himself unworthy after the first year or two—and over this tenant he held a tight rein; and many were the trips he made to the farm to see that he failed in no part of his bargain. Then there was the mill, which he had rented on very desirable terms to a man by the name of Crawford, who came from a distance, and had some little capital and considerable energy.
He supposed, though she gave no sign, that he could interpret in support of his opinion, that there was much self-denial in the life that circumstances forced upon her. It was the same thing, without break or interruption, day after day, and month after month. Once, and the time was of course, well within his memory, the Landray home had been famous for its hospitality; but Virginia had neither the inclination nor the means to continue this; indeed her few friends in the town itself gradually dropped away, and her interests narrowed to the immediate members of her own household, who furnished her with something that stood for occupation. Jane's baby developed a variety of inconsequential ills such as babies usually develop, but of which Virginia was always inclined to take an extreme view as of potentially tragic possibilities. She had also been directing little Stephen's studies for some time; though she had assumed this responsibility with serious misgivings as to her fitness for such a task, since her own education was of the simple sort such as usually fell to the lot of girls at that period, and went no further than a fair use of the English language, a treacherous acquaintance with figures, and a very little French, which she had forgotten, she found, with a thoroughness that was quite disproportionate to so vague a knowledge as this had been at its best.
From Anna she heard occasionally. Her letters came at irregular intervals, great bulky packages filled with agreeably written descriptions of the places she was seeing. These, Virginia sometimes loaned the lawyer to read; as she took it for granted that he had the same interest in Anna that he had in her.
The summer that followed Anna's marriage passed; and the winter that succeeded it; and spring came again, and found Benson still committed to a self-denying silence. It was one of the first warm days of early summer and Virginia had sent for him; her note had been left by the farm tenant and the lawyer had discovered it on his desk when he went home to dinner after a morning spent in court, and by the middle of the afternoon he was jogging over the pleasant country road in the direction of the farm.
“It's about Stephen,” said Virginia, when they were seated in the library. “I must begin to think of his future. I am thinking seriously of sending him away to school!”
“But why burden yourself, Mrs. Landray? There is the public school—temporarily,” he added hastily, for he detected a look of quick resentment.
“His father and uncle were college-bred men, Mr. Benson, and I can't bear to think that his opportunities are to be limited in a way their's were not!” And, sadly, “He will have need of every advantage.”